


My brother sees dead people

by orphan_account



Category: Project DIVA (Video Games), Vocaloid
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Oneshot, Sibling, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Horror// My brother sees dead people. He hears them, he smells them, he feels them. He protects me from them. My brother sees dead people. So why can't I?





	1. My brother does not speak latin

"Nii-san, are you quite alright?" I stared at his back as he walked aimlessly around the mansion, his thin fingers running over the wallpaper, the tips barely touching as they elegantly glide across. He doesn't respond, he just continues down the hallway, his steps systematic as he treads carefully. I poke the center of his back, the space right between his shoulder blades, and he stops walking. Yet he keeps his fingers right above the wall, barely touching; feathery. He doesn't look at me, but I know he's listening.

"Nii-san, why aren't you answering me?" I asked him, the back of his head still not turning. When he was acting like this, I felt that my existence was inadequate to the nervous intensity that was my brother, a young boy who did nothing but speak to himself, chew his nails, and stare at the darkening emptiness in the air. Waiting, I still don't get much of a response; just the normal sigh from his lips and he continues his way down the dim corridor, the sun casting capricious shadows that seem to keep moving, snaking around our toes and ankles.

Now I stop walking, cerulean eyes focused on the wandering lean figure of my older sibling, his fingers now raking along the grey wallpaper. His nails were making a quiet scratching noise, almost like the snore of our father who was at work at this waning hour. Other than my brother's scratching, I could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock located at the foot of our stairs and without looking at it, I can see the pendulum slice through the fragile air; inordinate. Before I knew it, Len has already turned the corner, his nails raising from the smooth surface before returning onto it's brand new path.

Left foot right, I begin to move again, my trance dissipating along with the sinking rays of the sun, an invitation to the night's mother; the moon. My steps were heavier than my brother's, easily heard in such a quiet house, but I did have slightly less weight than him. It was just a peculiar habit of his to walk lightly so that his steps were hardly touching the wooden floor beneath his feet, as if the boy was walking on a cloud or floating. It was so strange to me, but there was a reason for it.

Len always had a reason for the odd things he did.

"Len-" I pause mid-sentence as I find my brother already at the end of the hall, fingers still right atop the wallpaper; unmoving. The hall was lightless, the thickening black air enveloping it's victim, my brother, who stood there ever so motionless. I feel his shallow breathing, cold and weightless, yet I was meters away from his body. His breath seems to travel like birds, a wisp of invisible hands that constricts itself around my frail being, not painful, but seemingly protective.

Turning around, my brother faces me, his lengthy platinum blonde locks hanging over eyes that mirrored my own, except they've seen a lot more than I have. What they've seen, I'm not sure myself, but I can tell that it's beyond me, beyond the orbs of mine that were unable to read past the details of the intricacy that the world held in it's ancient hands. I could easily tell that Len was immersed in something deeper as his nails retreated from the wall before moving to rub at his eyes, left and right hand in perfect synchronization to meet at his doll-like face.

Finishing the quick process, he removes his hands from his eyes, the steady gaze still avoiding my own. He looks at something a little above my height, his lips parting in a silent scream that only confused me further. I inch my way to his still form amongst the shadows, two walls hugging one figure, a figure not so afraid of the unknown around us.

"Len, please talk to me-"

"Miserere mei." My brother's husky voice penetrates into the thick atmosphere, words emitting from his throat to speak the deceased language. I frown as his left hand meets his forehead, a splitting headache probably starting to manifest in the confinements of his head. Len coughs, a sharp yet hushed noise amidst the silence, and finally looks at me straight on. A tiny reassuring smile tugs at the corner of his youthful features as he finally seems to regain a familiar composure, one that I was definitely more comfortable with. I return the gesture and he extends a hand out to me, which I gladly take. Still, though the heavy air seemed to have lifted off our shoulders, something sinister was tugging at my gut and instincts told me there was still something wrong.

"Nii-san, are you okay now?" I inquired as I held onto his hand, his face facing the now lit hall in front of us. We were nearing our bedrooms, the two side by side yet simply separated by a thin wall, thin enough that I can speak to him and understand his muffled response.

"I've always been alright, Rin-chan." He responds after much thought, his fingers gradually quivering against mine, the very tips growing cold against my skin, contrasting boldly like red and blue hues. As they seem to grow into an unbearable temperature, Len lets go and lets his hand fall at his side. He stares at me with those icy blue orbs and as I peer into them, a growing uncertainty builds up within me and I almost wanted to grab his heatless hand again and attempt to transfer some of my heat into him. But like water to fire, he turns away from me once again, and I've grown used to the sight of his back facing me, my existence once again fading from my brother's eyes.

Saying our good nights, we step into our rightful bedrooms, the door shutting with the click of a lock, cutting through silent air before it begins to mend itself back together. I yawn soundlessly before climbing into bed, my eyes wide open at the popcorn ceiling that towered over me as it appeared that sleep was beyond my grasp. I toss and turn in my sheets, the bed creaking with each move as I desperately searched for a comfortable position.

Just when I thought I could grasp sleep, I recognized the muffled voice of my brother behind the wall that kept us apart. His foreign words struck me with a realization that was to deprive me of slumber.

"Sinite eam."

My big brother does not speak Latin. And he is not speaking to me.


	2. I watch my brother paint his walls

"Now class, it's time to draw a picture of your family! You can use as much paper as you would like." Mrs. Takashi's voice was clear in my head as I reach for the blank sheet of paper in the center of the table, beating the other children around me for the first sheet. Gently, I open my pack of crayons and organize the assorted colors before me, warms first before transitioning into the cooler hues. From the corner of my eye, I could see my friend Misaki already scribbling on her once clean sheet, the black crayon gliding across its flat surface. I look at my own before moving to start our assignment.

The first sheet was used to draw my mother and father, hand in hand in a garden, their smiles a bright red. I make sure to present my mom's silky long blonde hair with the yellow crayon while my father got his coffee shade, a color neither Len or I received. I paused at the bangs of the man who raised me, remembering that my hair did use to be a darker shade, a mousy brown, but eventually became as light as Len's. And I like it that way. I always wanted to grow up to be just like my big brother.

With the grey crayon, I begin to illustrate the small face of our cat, Mochi, on the second sheet of paper. She was a stray that Len had picked up on his way home from school, a little runt in an old box that was left behind and unwanted by her family. I can still remember the wide smile on my face when my brother stepped through the front door, kicking off his shoes before running over to greet me. The kitten had been trembling from the icy rain that afternoon but was soon warmed within the comfort of my arms.

"Will she be okay?" I had asked Len, my eyes spacious with worry. He only nodded, and I laughed as I realize how much water was dripping from his blond hair onto the wooden floorboards. It wasn't long before mum scolded him gently, telling him to dry up upstairs before coming back down to spend time with me and the new member of our family. Six years have passed since then and Mochi and I grew up together, and it was clear that we became an inseparable pair. Of course she showed her gratitude to my brother for saving her that dark, rainy afternoon, but that didn't stop her from annoying him by my side.

On my last sheet of paper, I draw my brother standing next to me like he always does. In my picture, he's holding my hand and we both look happy, just the two of us on a white canvas. There's a great big smile on his face which is mirrored on my own. As I color in our hair, I felt as if something is missing in my piece. The space around us felt large, too large, almost as if the white resembles a galaxy instead of that enclosed by the edges of simple copy paper. Unconsciously, my fingers wrap around the black crayon and begin occupying the emptiness with shapes. A lot of shapes.

"Rin-chan?" I look towards the source of the voice and notice Misaki's concerned look on her face, "What are those?" I glance down at my paper and acknowledge what I just drew. Surrounding me and Len are tall slender black figures with white eyes that pierce right into us. They appear to be looming over us, threateningly, and even I'm confused at what I drew. I drop the crayon onto the wooden table and clear my throat.

"Those..." I start, warily, "...are my brother's friends." As I tell the lie, I feel my throat constrict slightly, almost suffocating, like the air grew ten times heavier. Misaki purses her lips.  
"They look scary. I don't like them."

I nod in response, deciding to trash that drawing and start over. I don't know for sure if they're friends or not, but one thing is certain and it's that Len doesn't seem to like them. Or at least he seems cautious. Quickly, Len and I reappear on the sheet but the smiles are less exaggerated, especially on my older brother. It is nothing but a neutral line drawn across his pale face and I feel that it is much more fitting on someone like him.

"Yeah, they are," I finally reply, "They're mean."

I don't know if I should've said that.

I rush out of school with my backpack hanging on my shoulders and a feeling of excitement overwhelming me. Daddy promised us that we would get ice-cream after school and I had been looking forward to it since yesterday. As I approach the waiting car, I see my brother sitting shotgun, his chin resting on his hand as he stares out the window, and I wasn't too sure if he noticed me and is choosing to ignore me or is completely unaware of my presence, his eyes distracted by some unknown force.

Our dad shoots me a smile as I climb into the backseat, throwing my backpack onto the seat next to me. After buckling my seatbelt, we take off, my school getting further and further away from reach. Len hasn't said a word since I've gotten in the car and it's making me think of any of my actions that could've made the blond angry with me. Yet I can think of none. Dad seems to notice his silence as well and he decides to start a conversation.

"So kiddos, you ready for a treat?" I happily respond to his question, nodding my head and flashing him a bright grin. He heartily chuckles before glancing at my brother who is still unresponsive. He's in the same position he had been in from the start and my concerns for him are growing with each passing second. Dad nudges him, but receives no attention.

"Not so excited as your sister, huh?"

"No." The reply is brief and bland, no thought put into as he remains stationary, staring out the window, watching the cars zoom by as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Dad gives up by the time we reach the ice-cream parlor.

When I unbuckle my seatbelt, I look over to my brother who appears to have no plan to get out of the car. Dad notices this as well, pursing his lips in worry now. He brings the back of his hand to Len's forehead, presumably to check his temperature, but pulls away to find nothing is wrong with him at all. Len doesn't even seem to care.

"C'mon, cheer up. Ice-cream will help you take your mind off-"  
"I'm not hungry."

Len interrupts, his blue eyes never once peeling away from the window. My dad keeps pressing and when he does, I feel the air once again grow thicker, just like it did in the classroom. Fear creeps up my spine and I shiver from the goosebumps that tickle my skin.

"Len, I really think it will help. Just-"  
"I. Don't. Want. Any."

I freeze in my seat and I can see that our dad did too, his hand dropping from the steering wheel. Len's tone had been firm, but something was... off. Len never speaks to our father that way. He is always polite or tends to agree because he's never the type to argue. But today, frost seems to have intertwined with his voice and thoughts and he was being outright cold. I find myself speechless as my dad gets out of the car and opens my door, holding it open for me to follow suit.

I gladly do, the uneasiness slipping away the moment my feet connects with the asphalt and the door shuts me away from Len.  
I don't look back


End file.
